Left Behind
by Silverstar
Summary: After arriving in a town where rumours and stories surrounding a 'Mount Massive Asylum' are the only things to be heard, Sam and Dean go to check the place over. What they weren't expecting was to be trapped there trying to escape from psychopaths and that's before the spirit turns up...
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone!_

 _So, not only is this my first time writing for this fandom (despite having watched eight seasons within two weeks, and not showing any signs of stopping just yet until I've caught up), but it's also the first proper crossover I've written, so sorry in advance if this turns out to be completely rubbish. This isn't proof-read, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone so I had to write it, and then I just wanted to post it, because, y'know, why not? Sorry for anyone being out of character - I'm trying my best, so please review so I know what you think!_

 _Also - I may have changed a few things about Outlast just to suit the story. Sorry!_

* * *

It wasn't long after midnight when they finally found a motel. Signs of neglect were clear to see from the flickering neon sign hanging onto a pole by one corner, and the crumbling brickwork to the left of the building. Even the carpark was filled with loose leaves and other such debris that no one had been bothered to clear up,and Dean made special care to park the Impala in the clearest space.

The last case had involved not just one vengeful spirit, but three of them, all haunting the same town, and hunting down one family, with each kid disappearing and ending up dead in the back alleys, with the same mysterious marks that were normally unheard of with such a job. After a supposedly simple salt-n-burn, Sam had found himself face-to-face wth one seriously pissed off spirit which they had supposedly just sent back to god only knew where, so after shooting the ghost full of a crap-load of rock salt it had been back to the motel, and back to the laptop. Or, in Dean's case, back to the local bar, because goddam it, that bartender with the blonde hair and long legs was hot, and no way was he giving up on a night like that - vengeful spirits or not. Needless to say, after yet another extra day in the town, the pair of them were both exhausted - Sam due to staying up all night researching the suckers they were hunting, and Dean because being thrown against a wall was not such a great thing to experience, especially when the ghosts just had to get up all close and personal like that.

The bored looking man on the reception desk didn't get up from lounging in a desk chair, picking at a loose thread on the corner of his shirt before motioning to a key in front of him. "Whatever. Just pay when you leave. I don't give a shit." He paused, rubbing his chin before reaching for the half empty beer bottle next to him. "Not my motel anyway."

Dean didn't comment, instead too glad to get a room after hours of non-stop driving - not that the Impala wasn't a pleasure to drive, but jeez, some people really pissed him off with their headlights on full-beam that late at night, and Sam was too busy trying to stay awake to mention the almost too-casual attitude of the man, instead limping after his brother and leaning against the dimly lit corridor wall while Dean fiddled with key, letting out several curses that could probably even make a sailor blush.

With the door finally open, Sam made a bee-line for the bed, flopping down on his front and yawning before glaring at Dean. "Turn the light off."

"Turn it off yourself, bitch." Dean replied, struggling to escape from his jacket without causing further pain to his bruised ribs. "I'm _injured."_

Sam made a pitiful whine into the pillow, before burying his face in the covers and trying to block out the unnecessarily bright spotlights. The room was plunged into darkness as Dean realised his younger brother genuinely wasn't shifting. Making some sort of mumbled sound of gratitude, Sam finally let himself sleep...

...Only to be woken up around four hours later. Which after a hunt that had lasted as long as the last one had, was just plain cruel. And unfair. And for crying out loud, how was Dean still asleep? Stretched out so that he took up the entire space of the bed, Dean was whispering in his sleep again, which was something Sam had gotten used to after the years.

Reaching for his laptop, Sam gave into the fact that he was almost certainly not going to get any more sleep until that evening, so brought up the latest headlines for local online newspaper. The internet connection was cringe-worthily slow, and he had to resist the urge not to start cursing it aloud. Given how hard Dean had crashed into the wall, Sam figured his brother could do with the sleep. Glancing up at the ceiling, he noted the peeling wallpaper, and cobwebs clinging to the ceiling fan, because obviously there had to be the traditional signs of decay such as cold. Honestly, he could't remember the last time they'd stayed somewhere that had lights that all worked, and didn't seem like something out of an underpaid hollywood movie.

Flicking his gaze back down to the laptop screen in front of him, Sam slowly scrolled down the webpage. Some school shut down, a weird festival cancelled due to weather, something else about an animal rescue centre, boring, boring, boring, not important, unnecessary, and - Ah ha. Hey there. Maybe he'd actually found something.

 ** _Reporter joins the ranks of the many who are still missing after entering 'haunted' asylum._**

 _After first entering the supposedly haunted asylum, known as Mount Massive, five days ago, Reporter Miles Upshur, disappeared, and hasn't been seen since. According to relatives, he first took on the case after receiving information from an anonymous source, and started his investigation by entering the place late at night on -_

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted him from behind suddenly, and Sam literally jumped out of his chair, spinning around and narrowly avoiding falling flat on the floor as Dean watched him in amusement from the bed.

Sam pointed a finger at him. "Not a word."

Dean held up both hands in a peace-making gesture. "Didn't say anything." He protested, a smirk drifting onto his face as he swung round off the bed, clamping one hand to his side as a painful twinge shot up his ribs from the colourful bruises decorating there. Damn walls. Damn vengeful spirits. Reaching for a beer, despite the early hour, he made his way across the floorboards before attempting to see the computer screen over his brother's shoulders. "You got something?"

"Yeah." Sam ran a hand through his tangled hair, still neglecting to brush it since he'd woken up. "Check this out." He tilted the laptop round slightly so Dean could see the newspaper article as well. "Reporter goes missing, and he isn't the first. The place is well known for being haunted as well."

Dean kicked out a chair with one foot, sinking down into it and propping his feet up on the table, ignoring Sam's look of annoyance. "Go on."

"Uh, right, just doing a search for it." Sam frowned, before leaning back at examining the new found information. "Well we definitely have a case here from the sounds of things. Mount Massive Asylum was originally used for studying," he lifted his hands for finger quotes, "the Criminally Insane." Dean snorted on his beer, and spent a couple of moments trying to recover his composure. "Three scientists were murdered by an unknown patient. It was closed before being reopened by a Murkoff Corporation, which spent the next few years performing illegal experiments on the patients there, but that's pretty much it."

Dean sat up from his slouched position in the wooden chair. "What d'you mean that's it? There's got to be more than that?"

"No. Murkoff Corporation are known for being on the wrong side of the law, and for making bad deals, and the Asylum itself has featured on plenty of 'ghost hunters' websites, but that's about it. Wait, what's this?"

"What's what?" Dean asked, frowning as he spotted the pop-up link that was flashing at the bottom of the screen in red. He cast Sam an innocent look as his brother raised an eyebrow at him. "Honestly, this isn't me." He gave a sorrowful look towards the screen. "I haven't looked up Busty Asian Beauties on there in ages."

"If I get a virus because of this," Sam muttered under his breath before sighing, and giving into the nagging curiosity at the back of his mind as he clicked on the link. For a moment, the entire screen went pitch black, before several emails appeared, apparently showing the entire history of a correspondence between someone who had clearly ben working at the asylum and someone else, possibly the missing reporter.

"Wow these guys are really messed up." Dean commented from beside him. "I mean, c'mon, _dream therapy._ What the fuck?"

"Hell if I know," Sam replied, closing the laptop lid, and turning to face his brother. "So, what d'you think?"

"Shower, food, interview, get all our stuff, and head there for the night to see what we can find?" Dean suggested, going to stand up. "And I want my phone back."

"I don't have your phone."

"Yeah you do."

"I don't."

"Well, fuck."

* * *

It took a good couple of hours before Sam was satisfied they could actually pass for a couple of FEDs, after spending about twenty minutes moaning at Dean (his brother would definitely claim it could be called whining like a five-year-old) about how the older hunter had just stuffed the suits in the back of the Impala, and now they both looked like they'd been rolling around the floor bored to death at some kind of business meeting where the idea was to throw dust at each other. Dean claimed the Impala was by no means dirty. Sam glared back and started searching for his fake ID. Dean whined that he ' _physically needed pie Sammy!_ ' and finally they both were settled that each other were not at fault, and were waiting in some sort of cafe.

"There's literally nothing on this place apart from what I found in the email threads," Sam muttered, flicking through the emails he'd printed off back at the motel, and had shoved into his pocket for further research. Stabbing his salad with a fork, he glanced up, expecting to hear his brother's opinion only to find him chatting up the pretty waitress, leaning in close to whisper something in her ear, making her blush and damnit, if Sam was going to stand for working this case by himself because his brother was chasing women again, then - "Dean." He snapped. "Focus."

"Sorry," Dean replied, with a sarcastic edge to his voice as he watched the waitress head back to the counter, deliberately glancing over her shoulder with a flirtatious wink towards him. Returning to his pie (this place definitely had earned his approval) he frowned at the door. "I thought you said this reporter's sister was going to join us or something?"

"Yeah, she said she would when I spoke to her this morning." Sam agreed, without looking up. "What time is it?"

Dean shrugged as a response before the opening of the door caught his attention. "I think this must be her."

"Huh?" Sam finally looked up, greeting the woman with a smile before pulling out a chair to let her sit down. "You must be Olivia?"

The young woman nodded, accepting the seat gratefully and resting her hands on the table in front of her. "You mentioned you were launching an investigation into the disappearance of my brother?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Yes, and it would help if you could tell us anything you think would be useful?" Sam continued.

"Miles was always happy to take on the stories no one else would dare to. He was very much a dare-devil, and on the look for adventures. None of his colleagues or friends would go near the asylum, especially given the rumours about the place."

"Wait, what rumours?" Dean cut in.

Olivia frowned, as if surprised they hadn't heard. "The place has supposedly been abandoned for years, but rumours say that the patients were just left there. There's also stories of some sort of ghost, and given the way they treated the patients; everyone thinks its haunted. The police ordered an investigation a few years ago, when people started going missing, and when they went missing to, the entire place was kind of just left."

Dean gave Sam a pointed look, as if questioning why they hadn't heard of this place before. "Thank you for your time, Olivia."

She nodded, reaching out to circle her fingers around his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip, meeting his eyes with a fierce gaze. "Find my brother, please."

"We'll do our best," Sam promised her and she smiled, standing up.

"Thank you."

There was a couple of moments silence while they both took in the new information, broken only by Dean noisily eating his pie, making the most of it given that it was becoming clear they had a new case to be getting on with. Sam was frowning, and it was slowly becoming more and more like _Bitchface 3,_ which had been carefully developed since a young age.

"Vengeful spirits?" Sam suggested at last.

"Probably," Dean admitted with a groan, staring down at his pie with a sorrowful expression. "We only just dealt with one though. Three of them. Why couldn't we have a werewolf or even a shapeshifter?"

"Yeah, unfortunately it doesn't work like that." Sam smirked at him. "Anyway, whenever we deal with a shapeshifter we end up getting arrested, or nearly arrested."

"It'll be an easy job this time round though. Quick in and out to check the place for whatever the hell is haunting it, and then kick its ass, before we can move on, because I really hate that motel."

"Uh-huh," Sam muttered, before meeting his brother's questioning look. "But we're the Winchesters. It's never that easy."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys! So I'm finally updating - sorry for the delay, and I'll try to be quicker with updates from now on. But thank you to Snowfire218 and LoveroftheKiller for your reviews, and of course to other readers! Now before I delay any further, here's a slightly longer chapter as an apology.**_

* * *

The road that led up from the outskirts of the town to the main gates of the asylum was in surprisingly good condition, with the bushes and hedgerows clipped well back, and not a crumbling patch of road to be seen. It was almost suspiciously well kept, but the reality of how long the palace had been _'abandoned'_ was evident when they reached the gates. Peeling black paint flaked off the iron gates, propped to the side with an overgrown branch from the weeds that curled up, around and amongst the road.

"Mount Massive Asylum," Sam read aloud, inspecting the striking lettering on the gate and flipping open the notebook in his lap to the notes he had made on the history of the place. From the appearance of the road, it was evident that no one had been there to work in at least several years, and the gravel crunched under the wheels, a thick haze of dust being turned up behind them. As the Impala cruised around the corner, tiny pinpricks of light became visible in the gloom of the night air, as behind the lifeless trees a large building complex came into view.

"It even looks nightmarish," Dean muttered, tapping a steady rhythm on the steering wheel with one hand as the radio started to flood with static, signalling that there was certainly some sort of spirit somewhere. Turning it off, he finally gave up on the road as they reached the main front entrance. "And looks like we were right about the entire vengeful spirit deal from the radio static."

Sam glanced up from his notes to acknowledge him before catching sight of where they had stopped. To the right was some sort of security check-point, complete with the same yellowish glow from the street-lamps, illuminating the road and casting shadows that leapt over the walls over the asylum behind. He couldn't work out the state of the building from so far away as they still were, but it couldn't be in too bad a shape given the look of the security cabin. Looking back over at his brother, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Let's go check security dude's office then," Dean agreed, not needing to ask what Sam had meant, and made sure to lock the Impala behind him. The asylum may supposedly be completely deserted according to government records, but c'mon, rumours nearly always had elements of truth to them in their line of work, and it was an abandoned _asylum_. He wasn't planning to take any risks where his baby was concerned.

The door to the security cabin was missing, and didn't appear to have been broken away anywhere, but the floor was caked in a thick layer of dust, disturbed only by a pair of lighter dusted footprints.

"Looks like this Upshur guy got here first," Dean commented, Sam making a small noise of agreement, his attention instead captured by the blue glint of computer screens, sitting on the desk in front of the misted windows. It was a surprise to find the lights working, let alone the computer, which arguably was easier for tracking down a spirit but meant there was a stronger chance of some sort of electrical interference with the EMF detector. "Anything with the computers?"

"Nothing of any use," Sam admitted, tapping on the keyboard to see if it would bring the computers to any sort of life other than the glowing blue death of the login screen displayed in front of him. "We'd be better off just heading into the asylum itself, see if we can find anything."

"Yeah, okay."

He straightened up, noting the slight edge to his brother's tones and unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "Are you freaked?"

"What? No." Dean tugged on the hem of his jacket self-consciously, clearing his throat as he turned deliberately away from Sam. "Can you blame me? Every asylum we've ever been to has ended badly."

"We're not dead yet." Sam pointed out, joining him the doorway and meeting Dean's pointed look. "Oh don't even go there," he muttered, stepping out into the cool night air again, once again welcome for the bright lighting given out by the streetlights. The apparent way into the asylum was by the large black gates barring any further trespassing, and on further inspection he found them locked.

"Hey, check it out!" Dean called over, from where he was trying the second, smaller door, almost unnoticeable in the shadows. "Found our way in."

Sam went to go and join him when his gaze was caught by a slight movement in one of small windows, high up amongst the brickwork that he could see clearer now that his view wasn't blocked by the trees. The sudden moment was over in a second, and rubbing his eyes with one hand he found himself wondering if he'd actually just imagined it or whether there were genuinely still people there, trapped in some of the old testing subjects' rooms. He was still tired from the job the other night and on edge like he always was during a case where they didn't have all the facts, so no wonder he kept spotting shadows moving.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice cut through his thoughts, concern evident in his expression as he waited for his younger brother to respond. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." Sam mentally shook himself. Whatever it was that he'd thought he'd seen, they had guns and a crap-load of other such arsenal - good luck to whatever it was coming up against that lot.

The gate swung open lightly at Dean's touch, not making a sound in the still air as Sam slid a hand around the grip of the gun he was hiding under the shadow of his jacket, the beam of light from the torch flickering slightly as they got closer to the doors. Large and wooden, with the glass panels apparently misted over, or thick curtains covering a view in, it was clear that this had once been a state-of-the-art facility given the grandeur of the entrance.

"Why does it always have to be locked?" Dean muttered, frowning as he couldn't seem to find a keyhole to be able to pick the lock. Taking a couple of steps back and disturbing a pile of decaying leaves, Sam caught sight of another gate leading to the left-hand side of the complex, flowerbeds lining the pathway up to the rusting metal entrance. The wire of the door was peeling away from the frame, and the gap left behind was large enough for Sam to fit through, which meant Dean would definitely be able to. It would mean saying goodbye to the currently clean state of his jeans though; the ground didn't exactly look like it had been washed down recently.

"Dean, over here." He stepped back to let his brother examine the gap.

"Awesome," Dean congratulated him, dropping down into a crouch and shuffling under the wire without a problem. Sam glanced over his shoulder in typical hunter style - never leave your back exposed unless you fancy dying today, sound familiar? - and crawled forwards on all fours. At first it didn't seem like he was going to have a problem, but then something snagged the back of his jacket and he found himself scrambling at the ground unable to go forwards, but not backwards either. The metal wiring had caught on the fabric of his jacket, and had twisted in Sam's futile attempts to free himself.

"Uh, a little help here?" He asked finally, mentally waving goodbye to any sense of pride he had left.

"Sam, what now - oh Jesus." If Dean had even tried not to laugh it probably still wouldn't have worked. Instead he gave into the hysterical laughter at the sight of his Sasquatch of a brother completely trapped under the gate. "You okay there Samantha? Having a lie down? Need some more beauty-sleep?"

Sam shot him the ultimate bitch-face. "I hate you right now."

"Sure you do," Dean replied, leaning over to make quick work of the twisted fabric, releasing his brother within a few seconds, and turning to face the building in front of them once more. The looming mass of what appeared to be military style vehicles, complete with the metallic plating covering all windows to the sides, were parked outside, the build up of decaying leaves collected around the wheels evidence that they hadn't been driven in at least a couple of months. The breeze was picking up, creating a low pitched whistle as it swept through the leafless tree branches across the driveway entrance.

Years of hunting had resulted in good instincts alerting them both as to when it was a pretty simple case and they could relax, and when it was time to have guns on the ready and to keep their footsteps light. Dean's usual commentary of sarcastic remarks and references had fallen silent as the two silently moved up the long steps that were several metres across, pausing in front of the massive doorway.

"How much d'you want to bet that this is gonna be locked?" Dean fiddled with the zip of his jacket pocket, speaking in a hushed whisper. Sam didn't reply, instead casting a concerned look up at the higher windows, barely visible through the scaffolding. He shrugged as a response, before managing to drag his attention away from the disturbing silhouettes that appeared to have gathered around the murky glass panes, feeling for the familiar grip of his gun without meaning to, some of the tension falling from his shoulders at the sensation of the cold metal against his fingertips. True to form, the doors refused to budge, instead rattling slightly in their hinges but not creating enough slack to be able to break it down completely. It was one of those days, Sam figured, recalling how they'd misplaced their motel room key earlier as well.

"Well that's totally not ominous," Dean muttered under his breath, taking a step back to examine their other options.

"Just pick the lock." Sam pointed out, reaching up to sweep some of his hair out of his eyes. Despite his reservations, he'd be glad to finally find a way into the asylum if only to get out of the wind.

Dean gave him a scathing look, _well duh._ "There isn't a lock. Or at least not on this side. Could be electric I guess." His gaze flickered over the black heaps of metal that were the transport vehicles, before he made his way down the steps, casting the light of the torch beam across the gardens to the opposite side of the building. The brickwork was crumbling, and seemed less maintained to the left, complete with extra scaffolding. The wooden boards were more than likely to be rotten, but it was their best bet, and his gaze travelled upwards before lighting on the shattered remains of a window pane, the moth-eaten blinds fluttering uselessly in the breeze.

"Guess we're going climbing, huh?" Sam remarked to his right, leafing through the notebook again until he discovered the page he was looking for, licking the tip of his fore-finger and thumb to unfold it carefully. The ink was smudged, but the basic outline of the asylum was evident, with scruffy pencil marks showing where the lower floors were. The ventilation systems seemed to be a main priority for some reason.

"Really?"

Sam glanced up at his brother's exasperated tones. "What?" He shot back, taking a quick step to the right to avoid tripping over and sliding into the slime-choked waters of the concrete-rimmed pool in front of him. In the past, he imagined the entire place would have been quite appealing - if only you hadn't known about the inhumane treatments and testing being carried out only a couple of floors and rooms away.

"You couldn't have mentioned you have a map before now?"

Sam opened his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, before thinking better of it, and eyeing the red painted ladder leading up to the first level of scaffolding. As if it hadn't already been obvious that parts of the building were collapsing, the wooden boards to the left had completely given way under the weight of the forming pile of fallen leaves.

"Ladies first," Dean whispered from behind him, the smirk evident in his voice. Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes at his brother, instead tucking the notebook back inside his pocket and taking hold of the first metal bar, testing it gingerly to see if it could take his weight. Receiving a dislocated ankle before they'd even run into the supposed vengeful spirit would be pretty damn humiliating to say the least, let alone the teasing he'd receive from Dean because of it. Shaking his mind free of distracting thoughts, he focussed on continuing up the ladder, checking to see each rung wasn't going to give way before finally steeping out and onto the first platform of wooden boards. Surprisingly, it still seemed very sturdy under the grip of his shoes, unlike the opposite end of the scaffolding.

He took a step back to examine their surroundings from the new height while Dean made quick work of climbing, just behind him. He could barely make out the familiar form of the Impala, the sleek black paint glinting under the glow of the lamps. There was a loud clattering and what sounded like a cry, choked off without another sound from one of the rooms in block directly above the front entrance, and Sam made a grab for his gun, only to glance up, identifying the room by the direction the scream had carried from, and meeting a pair of cold eyes, dark irises glinting with inhumane rage. It was too dark to be able to properly make out any distinguishable features to help identify the figure, but the gloomy light was just enough to be able to catch sight of a large bulk of pure muscle. But the eyes, mad with hatred, and seemingly not identifying him as human, were what was disconcerting.

"You heard that, right?"

Dean glanced across at him, frowning as he caught sight of the expression on his brother's face. Following Sam's gaze upwards, he rubbed at his eyes with his thumb, blinked, and shrugged. "Didn't hear anything. But," he added at Sam's incredulous look. "I was distracted. Why? You think you've got something?"

"Possibly." Sam admitted, his gaze still caught on the now empty window.

"Great, well let's find the son-of-a-bitch and we might get back before the diner shuts." Still seemingly nonplussed about the entire incident (despite the fact that whether he admitted it to himself or not, his instincts were agreeing with his brother's), Dean continued forwards, nonchalantly withdrawing his gun to be on the safe-side. The familiar weight of the weapon resting in his hands was welcome as he kept close to the brick work that rubbed against the sleeve of his jacket. Beneath his feet, the floorboards gave an ominous crack, and he froze, barely scrambling backwards in time to avoid being sent flinging through the sheer drop. Barely a second later, the wood finally fractured, plunging downwards before landing with a thunderous crash that echoed around the courtyard. At his shoulder, Sam was barely able to hold back his cringe at the sound.

"You sure you don't want me to go first?" The look Sam received for that one was answer enough as he fought to hide his smirk, waiting a couple more seconds to allow Dean enough of a lead to be able to step back for safety should any more of the boarding be rotten. It was surprisingly quick work to reach the higher levels of the scaffolding, and a hurried slide across the wood to avoid slicing a hand open on the rusted nail sticking out from the splinters. A pale light flooded out from the empty window pane, catching on the glittering edges of the few fragments of glass left in the framework which Dean made a point to avoid as he swung himself up and over the ledge, landing lightly on all fours on the floorboards. Withdrawing his hand on reflex with a startled noise deep in his throat as he felt the sensation of sticky liquid gushing over his palm, it took him a moment to register's Sam's concerned voice from outside.

"Well that's never a good sign," the older hunter commented aloud, holding his hand up to show Sam.

"Is that...?"

"Blood?" He stood upright, scouring the rest of the room for any signs of the source. A deep scarlet red appeared to coat everything in sight, and he raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Yep."

"Ghosts that bleed, huh? That's new." As if on cure, the single light in the room, swinging limply from the ceiling like a death-struck spider, began to flicker before catapulting them into darkness.

"Fucking typical." Dean cursed, blinking hurriedly to try and encourage his vision to adjust. Looming objects began to blur into view, the bulk shadowy against the wall panels, but he thought he could make out a large shelving unit, tipped onto its side, sticky red fingerprints smeared across the gloss finishing. There were several chairs, including what appeared to be a sofa (although the fabric was long since destroyed by what seemed to have a been an savage attack) and strange patterns of red and black coating canvases hung on an angle at the wall. Light glinted off the curved edges of a clock, stopped at the early hours of the morning.

"At least they left the door open for us." Sam pointed out, bending over to shuffle a few books out of his way and giving a dramatic sigh as Dean purposefully trampled over the torn and ragged edged pages, ruining the ink with blood and smeared mud from the soles of his shoes.

"What?" Dean asked him defensively. "You think Caspar's gonna be doing some late night reading?"

Sam eyed the blood coating the floor with apprehension. "Somehow I doubt the spirit's going to be the problem." He curled a finger around the catch of his gun, side-stepping past the remainder of the books with a pointed glare at his brother and waiting next to the door. Listening carefully, nothing seemed to move, other than the constant whining of the wind outside, and he had to question whether he'd been seeing things earlier. Yet he could he still see the cold malicious pupils in his mind and it sent shivers down his spine.

Dean sent him a questioning look from next to the partially open door. _Ready?_ There was no need for words as Sam simply nodded in response, tightening his hold on the gun as his brother tugged opened the heavy door fully. Light flooded into the room and Sam reached up cover his eyes from the sudden illumination. Nothing seemed to be moving in the corridor, and the way right was blocked by a pile of broken furniture. Sam raised his eyes from the right to read the sign next to the door of the room opposite, the lettering jet black and bold. _A218._

"Guess we're going left then."

"Yeah." Dean gave the wide-open entrance in front of them a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes as there seemed to be a flicker of movement. "Give me a moment."

Sam caught on to his train of thought and nodded, following him into the room, and feeling a flood of relief as he realised there didn't seem to any blood-soaked floors in this one. Excluding the splatters decorating the walls on the far-side of course, but he was doing his best to ignore those. "Dean, there's nothing here, let's move on."

"There's something here. I saw something move." Dean retorted stubbornly, sounding remarkably like a sulking child. Not that Sam would ever mention it when his brother had a gun in his hand - ending up with a hole in the side of his shoe was not fun, and he was damn lucky Dean was so good a shot. Instead, he elected to behave in an equally childish manner, crossing his arms defiantly and mentally shifting through his replies and quotes when the large television mounted to the wall in front of the chairs burst into life with an ear-piercing blast of static that quietened down as they both fell silent instantly.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" Dean asked him triumphantly, stalking out of the room with a grand sense of satisfaction about him. Sam glared at the television in annoyance before sprinting after him at the sound of a sadistic scream, skidding to a halt and almost colliding with the other hunter.

"I heard _that_ ," Dean spoke after a pause, a darkened expression clouding his face before he started heading forwards to the left of the corridor.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"That had to be Upshur, right?"

"You don't know what you're up against." Black eyes burnt into his mind, and Sam clenched his fingers tighter to try and escape the thoughts.

"If it bleeds, then we can kill it. Now are you coming or not?" Dean didn't give him a chance to reply as he strode off ahead. Tossing his hands up in the air in exasperation, Sam jogged to catch up with him. And from the opposite end of the corridor, behind them, a lone figure smothered in scarlet slipped into sight, wide eyes darkened with the anticipation of a kill.

* * *

 ** _I've started work on Chapter 3 so hopefully there won't be as long a delay this time!_**

 ** _Review?_**

 ** _Kat x_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hey guys, here's Chapter 3 already! Thank you so much to Daughter of Ironman06 and Snowfire218 for your reviews and to all of you for reading this :) Apologies in advance for any mistakes - I read this through as best I could.**_

* * *

"Since when were psychotic weirdos allowed guns?"

Sam glanced up at his brother's voice, dropping his fingers from the smudged wallpaper to see Dean attempting to squeeze through a gap between the wall and a box of folders as well as another half collapsed bookcase. The walls just ahead were littered with blood-stains and bullet marks, and the floor hadn't fared much better. Getting to his feet from his kneeling position, Sam followed him through to the corridor on the other side, noting the familiar blue-silver glint of light from an open doored room, signalling that there was a computer in there.

"Anything important?" Dean appeared at his shoulder, having abandoned his trail of the blood splatters. Sam shrugged, entering the room cautiously but relaxing upon realising there was no immediate danger. It was still nice to feel the rock salt bullets in his jeans pocket though. Sliding the chair to the side, he tapped at the computer screen as the mouse seemed to have disappeared. The mangled piece of metal in the corner appeared to have its origins as such an object and Sam didn't want to consider what had the strength to destroy something like that. A ghost would have had no reasoning for such destruction.

"Nothing on the computer," he replied after a moment of tapping on the keyboard. It appeared that the connection had been lost between the electronics or that the security systems were more advanced than he realised. The files on the desk did catch his attention though, the blue paper of the folder marked in bold lettering _Confidential_ nagging at his curiosity for him to investigate further.

"Oh for-" Dean slammed down the phone on the plastic housing as the continual chiming of the disconnected tone rung out. Thankful for the silence, Sam skimmed his gaze over the text, frowning as he took in the information. Whoever the people were in charge of the treatments on the site, they clearly hadn't been acting under any of the medical laws around at the time. Silently, he handed the file over to his brother, flooding the torch-beam over the rest of the room as Dean read.

"Morphogenic Engine?" Dean glanced up to catch Sam's concerned gaze. "What sort of sick stuff were these people into?"

"Hell if I know," Sam shrugged, retrieving the file from Dean's fingers and shoving the papers into his notebook for later examination and evidence if they were forced into making another visit. "But if I died here under that sort of care then I'd be pretty pissed too."

"So basically," Dean stated after a moment's consideration. "There's no record of any patients being collected after the place was shut down. Which means there's a crap load of insane psychopaths running around?"

"We don't know that for certain," Sam protested, dropping the empty folder back onto the desk and switching off his torch. With the light from the corridor still illuminating the room, he didn't see the point in wasting battery-life. Nudging the door further open with his foot, he stepped back out into the passage-way, attempting to block out Dean's continual sarcastic commentary when the sudden movement of a door slamming shut caused him to start and jump back a pace.

Dean exchanged a wide-eyed look with him. "Reckon that was our vengeful spirit?"

"Or one of them. There was more than one patient die here." Sam ran a finger over the rock-salt bullets in his pocket and stepped to the side as Dean shouldered past him, reaching out to try the door handle. It rattled under his grip but didn't budge, clearly locked from the inside. Withdrawing his hand, Dean wiped his palm against the fabric of his jeans, as the brass fitting was also damp with blood. Whatever the hell had gone down here, it sure wasn't pretty. Still, they knew ghosts could move things and it was all too probable that the spirit they were hunting had been the one to lock the door. Despite Sam's concerns, his own jokes and the apparent evidence, he found it hard to believe that there were still people alive here. Raising his eyes to the toilets' sign, he couldn't help the smirk.

"Looks like someone really needed to go."

Sam shot him a classic bitch-face. "Really, Dean?"

"Oh come on. It had to be said." Dean slid his gaze sideways to the open doorway Sam was standing next to, and grinned. "Hey check it out. Reckon there's still soda in there?"

"Somehow I'm guessing no." Sam bit back a sigh as his brother disappeared inside the room. "We don't have time for this."

"Lighten up, we've got plenty of time," came the awaited reply from beside the tipped over vending machines. Wondering sarcastically, _why me?,_ Sam cast one last suspicious look over his shoulder before stepping into the room as well. The first thing that caught his notice was the apparent lack of blood splattering about the tiles unlike the rest of the asylum that they had experienced so far. The second thing was Dean kicking at the machines on the floor, a disgruntled expression on his face.

"Nothing left?" Sam did his best not to sound too smug.

"One dollar seventy-five, Sammy." Dean looked out-raged, giving the colourful metal a final kick. "They were ripping these guys off. No wonder they've gone all vengeful spirit on their asses."

"Or, technically, anyone who comes inside the grounds."

Dean pointed a finger at him. "No-one likes a smart-ass."

"That would explain a lot about why Cas hasn't shown up in over two weeks." Sam shot back.

"He's busy. Anyway, you can't use my own lines back at me."

It was more than likely that they would have carried on with their banter for a good further ten minutes had the sudden shower of blood droplets from the ceiling not splashed against the wooden cabinet collapsed between them. Dean glanced down at the bloodied ground dangerously close to his shoes before slowly glancing upwards. A scarlet stain was spread across the white paintwork, steadily growing as they watched.

"Is that normal? I don't think that's normal."

"Dean, we're literally hunting a ghost. How is any of this normal?" Sam glanced back over his shoulder at the doorway. Having their backs exposed to an empty space was sending the shivers down his spine and he half considered closing it except for how many escape options that would eliminate. Taking a step back as Dean leaned up for a better look at the ceiling, his attention was caught by a strange looking object next to the sink, in pride of place. "What the hell even is that?" He murmured, not aware he'd been speaking aloud until Dean spoke up.

"What the hell is what?" Footsteps rang out as the older hunter slid down off the filing cabinet to stand next to him, narrowing his eyes at the disturbing sight in front of him. He knelt down to peer at it sceptically. "Looks like someone decided to do some home-surgery."

"That's not funny."

"It's hilarious." Dean consulted his watch. "We've been here about an hour now, and we've still not found anything. The way ahead is still blocked, so I'm guessing the only way forwards is up."

Sam eyed the swinging open metal hatch to the ventilation shaft and inwardly groaned. Of course the only logical thing to do was to enter the place were most people get murdered after being dragged in there by the exact kind of things they hunt. He leant against the wall to keep an eye on the door while Dean climbed up, scrabbling at the metal edge in an attempt to avoid slicing his hands open, before finally heaving himself into the metal duct.

"No dead bodies as far as I can see, so your hair won't be ruined Samantha."

"Shut up." Sam muttered in a low voice as he pulled himself up. "Move along, will you?"

Dean crawled forwards on all fours, allowing Sam to fully enter the duct and scramble forwards into the darkened area. No sooner had they both moved forwards a metre did there come a crash from the room they had just left. Dean sunk down low to the metal below him to stare through the grate. Behind him, Sam held his breath, not moving a muscle. Out of Sam's line of vision, Dean could clearly make out the bulky figure of a man, muscled and completely void of clothes. In one gnarled fist he clutched a wooden stake with nails decorating the edges and he appeared to be slightly deformed. The most disturbing fact about his appearance was the way he was dripping in bodily fluids, with blood coating his arms and splattering his face.

"Dean?" Sam finally whispered from behind him, attempting to wriggle forwards in the confined space. "What's happening?"

"Nothing much," Dean replied quietly after a moment, tearing his gaze free before creeping forwards towards the light at the end of the duct. Pausing to take in the new surroundings, he hooked his fingers over the edge of the metal and scanned the immediate area for any more uninvited guests, only to find a single door to the left and yet another group of heaped furniture parts. A small cough from behind him was a reminder that Sam was currently still in darkness and breathing in the smell of his shoes, and he slid himself down to land as lightly as he could on the floorboards.

"How much do you want to bet that the door's locked?" He asked as Sam dropped down beside him, wavering for a moment before catching his balance.

"Nothing. You'd probably rip me off." Sam answered him, working his fingers through his dust covered hair until it was more respectable. Dean was right - the door was locked and it didn't appear that the furniture parts were being shifted any time soon, which left the one unopened door to the right of them. Closed doors made Sam nervous in this place, and he kept his gun at the ready as Dean kicked it open with the edge of his shoe, only to recoil in disgust.

"I take everything back. This is the worst thing I've seen." He managed to choke out, side-stepping one of the many fly-infested bodies swinging from the ceiling panels. The entire room appeared to be vibrating with a low humming that Sam realised was fly larvae and he sucked in a breath in an attempt not to heave at the stench of rotting flesh.

"Just find the exit dammit," He called across and Dean nodded, stepping over a pool of congealed blood to a cleaner patch of flooring when a sudden groan came from behind one of the shelving units. Dean shot a glance across at him for agreement before the two silently moved across to the books piles, swinging around the edge to come face to face with a heap of bloodied corpses. Dean made a noise of disgust in his throat as Sam fought against the nausea and dug his other hand into his pocket, twisting his fingers in the fabric to try and distract himself from the sight in front of him.

"Looks like we're not dealing with spirits after all," Dean stated, bending down to turn over one of the badges to read the name and job written on the front. "Murkoff scientists. The guys were sickos but they still didn't deserve this."

"Dean." Sam alerted him, taking a step forwards and frowning as his suspicions were confirmed. "He's still alive." His brother glanced upwards towards the man impaled on a stake amongst the other bodies, hanging limply as though a marker for a mass grave.

"Hey," Dean surged forwards, reaching out seize at the torn fabric of the shoulder of the uniform. "Hey. It's gonna be okay, but we need to know what happened here." He lifted one had to clasp at the bruised face, focussing the glassy eyes on him. "What happened?"

"They killed us." The raspy voice was thick with pain. "They got out. The Variants."

"Alright, the Variants. What else?" Dean patted at the side of the dying man's cheek. "C'mon, you gotta focus. What else happened?"

Wide bloodshot eyes stared into his forest-green ones. "C-can't fight them." A garbled cough broke through the line of speech and Dean had to fight back his frustration. "Have to hide."

"Alright, alright, but what happened? The variants got out? Who are the variants?"

A sliced up hand grasped at his sleeve. "You've g-got to get the fuck out of this terrible place."

"Yeah, I'm not disagreeing with you there buddy, but what else happened?"

"Dean." Sam's voice was low with a warning, his expression drawn with an unknown mixture of emotions. "He's in pain. He can't tell us anything else."

Dean waved a hand at the younger hunter, before turning back to the dying man. "The variants. Who are they?" There wasn't a reply, and as he withdrew his hand the head fell limp against a torn-up chest. The blood dripping from his fingers brought back too many memories and he shook his head. "Variants, huh?"

"Patients?" Sam guessed, avoiding catching sight of the body. "I mean, how the hell did they gain control?"

"More to the point, why are they still here?" Dean turned away and grinned as he caught sight of the door. "Finally."

"Wait, what about-?" Sam motioned towards the death-struck figure of the impaled worker. "Shouldn't we get him off that or something?"

"He's dead." Dean stated, with raised eyebrows. "He's not exactly complaining. Why, you planning to retrieve all the heads for our pals over there?"

Sam glanced across at the hanging bodies and glared at his brother. "I'm just saying." He muttered, stalking past the other hunter and opening the door slowly, keeping an eye out for any of the rogue patients, catching sight of a sudden movement from the corner of his eye and freezing in an attempt to get a better view. Just behind him, Dean had the right idea to stay silent as the distorted large figure stalked along the corridors ahead, finally disappearing into a room.

"Now what?"

Dean ran a finger along the barrel of his gun, and glanced up to meet Sam's concerned gaze. "That's the only way forwards," he admitted. "And I doubt even these Variants dudes could survive a bullet to the heart."

"I thought you just had rock-salt?" Sam exclaimed with an incredulous look. Dean shrugged, keeping his gaze firmly set forwards as Sam finally stepped out into the corridor. There didn't seem to be any further movement, and he skulked further forwards before shifting past the pile of filing cabinets when a sudden cry from behind him made him spin around. "Dean!" He shouted, catching sight of his brother being yanked backwards by a huge man with swollen features, his skin streaked with blood. Ragged nails scraped across Dean's arm and at the way his brother was struggling, it was evident that he was unable to free himself. Images of the other mutilated victims flooded Sam's mind and horror swept over him as he attempted to twist on the spot, but found himself unable to due to the crates blocking the movement. Instead he desperately fumbled for his gun, pausing as he realised that taking a shot was hopeless. There was all too great a risk that he would hit Dean but not the psychopathic captor behind him.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Dean yelled, clawing at the gigantic hand that was snaked around his wrist. The massive man snarling down at him was practically taller than Sam and seemed a hell of a lot stronger too. Talon-like fingers pressed down harder around his arm and he thrashed about in the strong grip, scrabbling at the filing cabinets to try and crawl forwards and grab Sam's other hand that his brother was attempting to grab him with, but he was dragged flailing back across the floorboards, splinters scratching at his palms. Sam attempted to fling himself forwards and snatched at the fabric of Dean's sleeve, grabbing his brother's hand before the psychotic patient managed to drag their combined weight forwards. A colossal fist came smashing down at the floor next to Sam, crashing through part of the wooden boards in a blow that would have been strong enough to knock him out, possibly even shatter his collar-bone.

"Sammy." Dean whispered, his gaze flickering over the floorboards, and the knowledge that his brother was going to get hurt if they kept this up all too evident to his mind. "I'm sorry."

"Dean!" Sam grabbed at his hand again, the grip firmer as he linked gazes with him. " _Don't let go,"_ he begged silently with his eyes, only to meet Dean's grim expression before his brother released his hand, sending him skidding back towards the crates, nearer safety.

"Little pig." The low growl was spat in his face as Dean scrabbled to get free, while Sam scrambled for his gun only for a kick to send the weapon skidding across the floor to where it was unreachable. Unable to free himself, Dean lashed out frantically before a second arm wrapped around his chest, clenching until he could barely breathe. Pain sparked along his ribs before he found himself being smashed against the window pane, gasping for air still. Pain blurred his vision and still unable to reach his gun it was all he could do to try and draw in a choked breath, panicking as he found he couldn't before the glass behind him shattered and he was falling, smashing into the ground with an impact so hard that the small air he had left was knocked out of him and darkness came crashing down.

"Dean!" Sam's frantic shout reached his ears before he finally lost the battle, falling into deep unconsciousness.

Far above him, Sam watched in horror, unable to reach him as dark eyes lighted on him with a cold twisted pleasure.

"Kill." The snarl echoed around the corridor, and Sam scrambled backwards, flinging himself forwards and pushing himself to his feet as the Variation crashed through the filing cabinets like they weren't there. Raising his arms to protect his head from the splinters of wood, metal and glass fragments, he slipped, crashing through the rotten wood panels to the side, and found himself falling through the air, landing awkwardly on his ankle in the darkness. Unable to move, or even draw breath at first, he waited for the inevitable thud as the patient landed beside him, but the only sounds he heard were footsteps in the distance moving away. He couldn't see anything apart from feel a cold breeze, and sucking in a deep breath, he shifted himself into a sitting position. He pressed one hand against his lower leg, wincing as he felt the warmth of blood leaking from between his fingers.

 _Dean._ "Dammit." He muttered aloud, heaving himself to his feet with a hissed murmur of pain, limping towards the rough outline of a door he could catch sight of as his eyesight adjusted, attempting to wipe his mind of the image of his brother lying unmoving amongst the broken glass, apparently not even breathing so many metres below. To survive a fall from that height without injury would be uncommon enough, even if there weren't psychopaths after them. A screech from somewhere else in the asylum echoed back to him and he froze for a moment, his mind racing through his options. He had to get to Dean before the others did. Unless... He closed his eyes against the shivers that racked his body. His leg was still throbbing and he leant back against the wall. The only option he had left probably wouldn't even work but it was the best hope he had. Focussing his thoughts, he pressed his fingers harder against the sluggishly bleeding wound on his leg.

 _Cas? Castiel? We're in trouble...Dean's hurt pretty bad. Mount Massive Asylum. Please...get here?_

Sliding down the wall into the damp waters flooding over his shoes, he shivered again. "Dammit Cas." He whispered, opening his eyes to find the area still empty, save for himself. "Where are you?"

* * *

 ** _Review please?_**

 ** _Kat x._**


	4. Chapter 4

**_I'm sorry, I know, later update than the others (still not as bad as the gap between Chapters One and Two though!) but to be fair I've been confined to bed for the past week with a high-fever. So now I'm still having to take antibiotics etc. but at least I can write again!_**

 ** _Thank you to Snowfire218, xJ and Mystifiedgal for your reviews! :)_**

* * *

The first thing to return to Dean was his hearing. Lying perfectly still while he attempted to assess his situation, he gathered together his senses, listening intently to try and work out some of hissed whispers filtering through the air from somewhere in front of him. Fighting through the wave of nausea caused by the onslaught of pain as he tried to move, shuffling further onto his side, he managed to open his eyes, blinking the blurriness out of his vision. _Concussion_ , his thoughts supplied helpfully as he shifted a hand up to clasp at the still bleeding cut to the back of his head.

One of the first sights to register with his mind was the blue glow of yet more computers, hidden slightly by the murky glazing of windows. His gaze flickered slightly to the left, lighting on a bald-headed man leaning forwards to study him intently. Licking his lips, Dean tried to find his voice in his dry throat, longing for a drink as he supported his weight with his elbow before tilting forwards too far, darkness clouding his vision. He found himself jolting back to consciousness with a start. Finally alert, with his hunter instincts kicking in fully, he leant back against the wall, narrowing his eyes as he took in the improvised white cross decorating the black shirt the man wore. The attire wasn't smothered in blood unlike the rest of the asylum, or the two ex-patients that they had come across before.

 _Sammy._ The thought swept into his head along with the memories of smashing through the window and the strong grip leaving bruises along his fore-arms.

"And who are you, then?" The voice was spoken with a soft hush to the tones, smooth and untrustworthy. Dean blinked in the harsh beam of the flashlight directed into his eyes, ducking his head to try and avoid the too-bright light before meeting the stranger's eyes.

"You could call me Batman," Dean finally spoke up, with a smirk as he clawed his fingers into the wall, allowing himself to scramble into a better position. The world tilted around him at first, before righting itself and the pounding in his head seemed to die down slightly to a more tolerable volume.

The confused expression that dawned on his companion's face made it obvious that the reference had gone entirely over his head. Not that it mattered that much, Dean figured, noting with annoyance that the man was examining his EMF detector, tilting it in the dim light and running a finger along the metal.

"Hey." He snapped, not willing to see if he could get up yet. The dull throbbing in his ankle that was spreading as he became further aware of his injuries made it all too obvious that fighting was not going to be an option for a while at least. With the way he was feeling right now, he wasn't sure if he could even punch hard enough to cause pain, let alone knock someone out. "Put that down." His request was completely ignored, as expected.

"I...I see." The man's eyes glinted in the light, a glaze of madness settling over his pupils. "Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Probably not. We're not on the best of terms considering I've been to Hell and back." He reached around his back instinctively for his gun, mentally cursing when he found the weapon to be jammed. Without being able to look at what he was doing, there was all too great a risk of it accidentally going off.

Priest guy, as Dean was silently nicknaming him, didn't appear to hear him, instead settling back on his heels like some kind of animal, and inspecting him again. With sunken eyes and darkened shadows flitting across his face, he struck a sinister posture, with a sense of uneasiness about him that made Dean want to get the hell away from him as soon as possible. Sucking in a deep breath, he prepared to gather his strength to run.

Across from him, twisted lips curved into a manic smile. "Guard your life, son, you have a calling." Dean shifted back as the figure stepped forwards, towering above him as the hunter remained slumped against the cold ground, when a sudden gust of air swept across his face and he closed his eyes. The soft flapping of wings didn't register with him until he slammed into the ground with a slightly harder impact that could have been expected.

"Hello, Dean." The low voice spoke in his ear, two fingers lightly pressing against his forehead. Dean leant towards the familiar touch, and drank in the feeling of warmth as his body healed within seconds. Finally fully aware, he sat bolt upright, his eyes flying open with surprise.

"Cas?"

"Yes. Are you alright?" Cas cast his gaze around their new surroundings with disgust. "I don't understand, I tried to take you to the motel room, but something's blocking my pure access to my grace." It was disconcerting to say the least given that he'd only just got back his essence. "It seems to be preventing me from flying greater distances, although I can still use part of it." He clenched then relaxed his fists by his sides, feeling the warmth of his powers flood to hand, ready to smite any approaching danger that might threaten him, or his friend.

"W-What," Dean pushed himself upright into a standing position, holding back a cough at the movement. Cas may have healed his more serious injuries, but the angel's grace was not complete, and there was a dull sense of pain curling around his side, like that of non-too-serious bruising. "What are you even doing here?"

Cas tilted his head on one side, looking confused. "Sam prayed to me. He said you were in trouble. I don't understand though, I can't find him anywhere. It took me several minutes to find you." He considered this for a moment, casting a concerned look over his shoulder at the darkened rooms behind them. "There's an evil about this place. I assume you're here on a case?"

"We were supposed to be." Dean rubbed one thumb along the side of his hand where the splinters had been, lifting his gaze to meet Cas' searching blue stare. "Vengeful spirit," he elaborated, without breaking eye contact, taking comfort in the familiar and somewhat calming presence of the angel. "Apparently. Turns out that the bad guys are sure as hell _not_ dead." He tilted his head back with a low dark chuckle, without an ounce of humour in his voice. "I found that out the hard way."

Cas turned away, lifting his chin to be able to catch sight of the darkened rooms just visible through the broken floorboards in the ceiling above, allowing a glimpse to the next floor. His enhanced hearing was able to pick up on the pounding footsteps, accelerated pulses and the pure senses of hatred and rage being cast off in great waves from the souls that weren't quite demons. He couldn't quite comprehend what was going on here. The souls were not human, but not demon either, and certainly not angels, and yet not the pure-blood monsters that the Winchesters hunted either. Lifting his wings in the ether-plain, he reached out with the small sample of his grace he was still able to reach, twisting it through the air-lengths to feel at the souls. Reaching one of the darkened spirits, shrouded with a deep shadow of something unknown, and dangerous, he felt his grace being flung backwards as though reacting with something. The evil stung like a burn, coursing through his essence and he instantly dragged his grace fully back to his vessel.

"Cas?" Dean was frowning at him, as though suspecting there was something else at work here, that Cas was able to pick up on. Sometimes the angel cursed how perceptive the hunter was considering how most of the time he wasn't able to tell if someone was upset if it was anyone other than Sam. Although that could just be an attempt to avoid one of the supposedly abhorrent 'chick-flick' moments.

He shook his head to focus himself on his surroundings. "It's nothing. We need to move though." He could sense one of the many presences moving towards their current location, and hid the shiver that attempted to run down his spine.

Dean finally managed to get a proper look at the barrel of his gun, rolling his eyes at the sight that was presented to him under the dim light of one of the working lamps. It was almost completely clogged up with a silt-like substance that was practically impossible to remove without the specialised cleaning instruments he had in the back of the Impala. Scratching at the rim of the barrel with the ragged finger-nail of his fore-finger, he slid the weapon back under the back of his jacket. In its current condition it was useless anyway.

"More of our psycho pals, huh?" He asked as a response. "We need to find Sam."

"Of course." Still somewhat unnerved by the souls' reaction to his grace, Cas kept his true form firmly hidden in his vessel, reaching into the deep pocket of the trench coat for the metal object resting there. "Before I forget, I believe you may want this back?"

Dean stared down with a look of utter betrayal at his mobile, currently residing in Cas' hand before reaching out take it back with a rueful grin. "That's where the damn thing went." A thunderous crash sounded from the dark room above them and without another word, Cas stepped into place behind Dean, following him out of the room and into the adjoining corridor. Sensing another of the deranged patients heading towards them, Cas reached out to snag the sleeve of Dean's jacket and gently tugged him into the computer room to their right, closing the door silently with a touch of his hand before releasing the hunter from his grip.

Dean didn't question his actions, instead guessing that it was due to more of the Variants. Moving across to one of the many desktop computers in the room, he ran his fingers over the screen, moving the mouse with his other hand, but the Murkoff Corporation logo remained obstinately on the lock screen in front of him.

"Nothing much of use here," he muttered across to Cas, who was heading across to the still-open door on the opposite side of the room. Leaving the computer alone once more, almost slipping in a pool of blood soaking steadily into the carpeted edges of the room, Dean slid to a halt, grabbing hold of the door frame to steady himself. Sneaking a glance around the corner, he froze upon catching sight of a silhouette. The figure sat slouched slightly to the side in the framework of a wheelchair, twitching with a jolt of sudden movement every few seconds. Dean slid his gaze across to Cas in a silent question before stepping out in the corridor. The man didn't move, his twisted movements only allowing him to claw his way forwards or slightly to the right.

"He doesn't appear to want to harm us," Cas admitted, still avoiding reaching out with his grace, instead allowing his angel-blade to slide down his sleeve to rest in his hand. The cold metal was welcoming and a calming sensation against his skin as he focused his senses on the tortured soul sitting so lifelessly in the wheelchair.

"Well hey there, jumpy." Dean muttered, pausing to study the limp form. A single shudder ran up and down the man's arms and he shuddered slightly against the fabric of the chair. Dean averted his gaze from the sunken eyes and deathly skinny figure, each rib clear to see in the pale light, and instead carried on, turning so that he could face the man before stepping backwards and almost loosing his balance. Cas' hand shot out to steady him with lightning quick reflexes and prevented him from drawing too much attention to himself. Still facing outwards towards _Jumpy guy,_ he wasn't able to see behind him where Cas was staring, but the wide blue eyes filled with a sense of sick horror _and was that fear?_ were warning enough. Catching his balance properly, Dean turned on the spot to catch sight of what at first appeared to be two men sitting watching television, but a shifting slightly forwards revealed that there was a third figure hunched over with thin skeletal arms wrapped like ivy in a tight grip around his knees. Dean could barely make out his facial features, only just able to catch sight of a pair of dark eyes, rimmed with a sore and flushed skin that seemed to be scratched across by ragged fingernails. Against his trousers, the patient's fingers were torn and bloody.

"Crap." Dean muttered, with a look across to Cas. The angel was staring at the three figures with a sense of distrust and apparent unease, the glint of the light off his angel blade flickering over the walls. Dean cast a glance up towards the television, frowning as he realised it was simply filled full of static. Of the three variants, it was arguably the one at the front that was the most normal looking, with the second one's skin and face smothered with angry looking sores and burns that had the hunter almost flinching in sympathy. "Reckon they'll move if we try and get past?"

Cas considered this, feeling out with a hesitant touch of his grace towards the souls. They didn't seem to even notice their presence in the room, instead their entire beings purely focussed on the white etched grey of the television static. As Cas examined them closer, it became more obvious that they almost seemed to be listening to something, and yet he couldn't sense anything else. Drawing his consciousness back to Dean with a start, he shook his head as an answer to the previous question, but still slipped past the men first. Eyes wide, their pupils were blown large and dark and glassy as they stared unseeingly at the screen in front of them, a faint trail of blood dripping down off the left hand corners.

Behind him, Dean kept his footsteps fast paced and as silent as possible, quietly moving past the seating area and patients to slip unhindered into the room opposite behind Cas. The moment he was inside the walls, Cas reached out, closing the door behind them both, and breathing a sigh of relief.

There appeared to be another bloodied corpse across the floor, slumped in an office chair. In the middle of the room, a long wooden table was surrounded by chairs, creating the appearance of a meeting room. Having completed his inspection of the room, and satisfied that they were both as safe as it was possible to be for the time being, Dean settled down against the wall, focusing on calming himself and considering their options.

"Variants." He spoke after a moment. Cas took a step away from the door, but kept his angel blade in a tight grip, focusing his awareness on the only way into the room.

"Variants?"

"The security guard we found in the library." Dean breathed in, slowly releasing the breath and keeping his eyes closed, his fingers tightening on the cuffs of his shirt. Every part of his mind was yelling at him to get up, to stop wasting time, to go and find Sam. "He called the patients variants. Any idea what he could have meant by that?"

Cas' expression darkened, and he turned away again. Clearly he did know something more than he was letting on, although Dean knew from experience that if the angel didn't want to tell him something then he would absolutely not let a single wrong word slip out. "Variants," Cas spoke at least, rolling the word over in his mouth. "Different. Their souls, they're...changed. Not quite human. But," he added, catching sight of Dean's look. "Not demons either. They're not either, they're something new, like something has changed them, almost morphed into something that doesn't obey the rules of humanity, demons or angels."

"So, what? They can still die, right?"

Cas flickered his grace into life as best he could behind the blocking sigils he guessed were painted somewhere in the building, as he couldn't figure out how else these beings could possibly affect his pure form like this. "I believe so," he replied, twisting his angel blade in his grip. "Their bodies are still human, and they are not possessing them like angels and demons must take vessels."

"Well at least that's one thing in our favour." Dean heaved himself upright again, the bruises twinging in pain as his side collided with the wall. "Are you sure there's no way you can find Sam without having to search everywhere on foot?"

Cas glowered at him. "You think I haven't tried that already? Sam's prayer was desperate, and I attempted to find you both. I was only able to find your location because of our bond." His gaze flickered over Dean's shoulder where the handprint lay scorched into the hunter's skin, before dropping his line of vision to the floor. "Dean, I'm sorry. But somehow they're blocking most of my grace, and I can't-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Dean held his stare, speaking everything in a single look that he could never put into words, and Cas smiled slightly back at him. "The only way out is back through static druggies' room, right?" Cas glanced over his shoulder at the door, not needing to reply as Dean brushed past him, opening the door slowly, before dropping down into a lower crouch, and all but sprinting across the flooring to the open doorway on the other side. The corridor seemed dark in comparison to the more brightly lit room of the three variants, but as Cas shut the door behind them as was quickly becoming his role, he couldn't help the flood of relief that washed over him.

"That could have gone worse," Cas commented, focussing his gaze on the wheel-chair bound figure in front of them.

"Hey there, Jumpy." Dean called over, despite the warning look the angel shot him in exasperation. _Really, Dean? Attracting attention much?_

Heading forwards he attempted to walk straight past as fast as possible without stopping when behind him _Jumpy guy_ suddenly threw himself forwards, sinking fingers into the fabric of the trench coat and dragging Cas to the ground in a surprisingly strong feat of strength. Practically pinned to the ground, with dark pitted eyes a mere centimetre from his own blue gaze, he fought to free his hand, blocking Dean's shout of concern from his immediate thoughts and slamming his palm down on the peeling forehead in front of him, focussing all of his grace that he could claw through the sigil block on the soul in front of him. Blue angelic form flooded his glowing eyes, power crackling the air around him, and he hoped that Dean had the good sense to stay back. Instead of the soul disintegrating under the pure energy of the smiting, it instead seemed to gain strength from it, seizing hold of the power flooding over him, and sinking forwards dark tendrils of _something_ , clawing into Cas' essence. Suddenly realising the danger, Cas attempted to drag his grace back, flooding back into his vessel and smashing his fist into the face an inch from his own, but the figure refused to move, sinking fingernails into his arms and not letting go. Panicking as he couldn't free himself, he struck out again, kicking and scrabbling at the form that snarled above him, the darkness of the rotten energy gripping at his pure form keeping them locked together until Dean appeared.

"Get the fuck away from him, you sick son-of-a-bitch." The metal beam of the wheel-chair leg swung through the air, crashing into the variant. With a harsh cry, it let go, flinging across the floor and smashing into the wall. Still collapsed across the floor, Cas tilted his head back away from the blood smothered tiles and heaved in a deep breath, frantically fighting to counteract the darkness against his grace. "Cas. Cas. _Cas._ " Dean was suddenly in front of him, crouching and leaning forwards. "You're alright, calm down, c'mon buddy. Cas. You need to focus on me." Strong hands were suddenly pawing at his shoulder where the fingernails had pierced through the trench coat, fingers splayed over his cheeks and pulling him closer to towards Dean's chest, tugging him upwards to his feet. Warmth flooded through him at the touch, and he drank in the feeling and sight of Dean's soul, as beautiful and good as the first time he'd seen him fighting against the evil that threatened to take over him when torturing on the rack in hell. He focussed on it, allowing the light to brush against his grace, banishing the darkness before stepping back, still breathing heavily with ragged pants.

"Cas? You alright?" Dean was staring at him with worry, and fear, the emotions sweeping across his mind. "What the hell did that bastard do to you?"

"I couldn't smite him." Cas gazed down at his hands with an expression of almost wonder.

"Well, yeah, you said there was something blocking your mojo, right?"

"Not all of it." Cas lifted his chin to meet Dean's forest-green eyes. "I had enough to smite him. But he's almost immune to it, it just made him stronger."

"What, so it was feeding off you or something?"

"I suppose that would be the best human translation, yes. It got a hold of my true form. I...I didn't think that was possible."

"You okay now?" Dean's voice was hushed as the variant began to move slightly, hunching his back to claw its way forwards, scraping fingertips against the carpet.

"Yes." Cas tilted his head to the side, listening intently with his eyes half-closed before stalking past the hunter, a single motion of his hand alerting Dean to follow him.

"What now? You planning to tell me, or...?"

"Sam's praying to me again." Cas spun around on the spot to speak to him, blue eyes sparking with a mixture of emotions so much so that for a split second Dean believed him to still be glowing before realising better.

"Sammy? Is he okay?"

"I don't know. But while he's praying I can try and follow."

Dean nodded to him. "Then let's get going."

* * *

 _ **Well, uh, I guess you know what I mean by changing parts of Outlast. If all of the patients were pure human then Cas would have been able to just smite them all, which wouldn't make for a very good story. So sorry if you wanted to me to stick closer to the character origins - I'm doing my best, but that's one of the only things that very different! :)**_

 _ **Reviews please?**_

 _ **Kat x.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_So, uh...hey. I know, I know, I should have updated sooner! I'm so sorry! A certain beta has been helping me with writing another multi-chapter story that has been taking up a lot of time and I may have completely forgotten about this. But I am back, with an extra long chapter for y'all. Thank you so much to all of you gorgeous readers, and especially those of you who took the time to favourite, follow but especially to review. I checked this through as best I could because I wanted to get it published tonight, but, well, it's 10:40 here in the UK and I'm tired._**

 ** _Anyway, time to find out where Sam's got to._**

* * *

Courtesy of a variety of less than natural creatures over the years (werewolves, vampires, vengeful spirits, demons, angels...you name it, he'd faced it), Sam was certainly not a stranger to concussions. The feeling of disorientation as he raised his chin from his chest and attempted to get his bearings was one of the expected but definitely least welcome side-affects and he fought back the nausea for a couple of moments. There was a tang of copper to the stench that hit his senses, and he attempted to scramble forwards a few metres only to realise that he was shackled to a chair. This, in itself, was not too unusual - by this point in his life he'd probably spent more time tied up then he'd ever spent at university, which seemed sort of sad given his original hopes and dreams. No time to dwell on the past though, he figured, as he twisted his wrists in the binds, fidgeting for a few more seconds before the locks sprang loose and he slid straight to the ground.

 _Huh. Well that had been relatively easy._ His breaths still coming in short gasped pants, Sam sat back on his heels, wiping the palms of his hands on his torn jeans. His vision was slightly blurry at the edges, but the memories were now returning with a vengeance. _Dean._ He glanced around for any signs of Castiel, but the trench-coated angel was nowhere to be seen. The only explanation he could think of was that their friend had managed to find the older Winchester, as it was no secret that if it came to choice between Sam and Dean, then Sam was pretty certain that Cas would be high-tailing out of the place with the latter.

"Castiel? Cas? I don't know if you're here, but I could do with some help..." He whispered quietly, still hoping to catch sight of his friend but to no avail. Instead, he was suddenly aware of a sudden movement to his right, and turning his head as much as could with the current throbbing about his skull, it was with a icy shock that he met the haunted and sickened gaze of a tense figure dressed in brown ragged slacks typical of that of patients in asylums such as Mount Massive. Sam froze, instantly tensing so as not to move, and sucked in a deep breath at the sudden aggravation of the bruises he had somehow acquired over his ribs.

"Shhh. Shhhhhh." The raspy voice that hissed out from the man's throat was filled with an urgent dread and Sam scoured the area about him for clues. There appeared to be a glass barricade between them, which was one piece of luck, but the glazed madness in the stranger's eyes were something that send the shivers down his spine. Damn asylums. He never liked working jobs at them. Licking his dry lips, he crawled forwards on all fours a pace or two before the sudden drop in the air temperature filled him with a suspicion that had him glancing back towards the patient. With palms pressed to the wall, the figure stared at him with a sense of sick curiosity before tilting his head on one-side like a bird, listening intently. Losing his balance, Sam tilted sideways and the vague strength he had managed to build up deserted him as his arms and legs buckled beneath his weight and he collapsed listlessly onto his side, giving himself a clear view of the other cell.

"You hear that, don't you?" Gravelly tones barked out the words towards him and Sam felt the room temperature drop another degree. Somehow, he couldn't seem to form the words of warning instead staring with a sick sense of horror and premonition towards the steadily darkening area behind the man. _"_ Do you hear it?" Unable to look away but desperately wishing he could tear his gaze away from the dreadful sight, Sam could only look on helplessly as the pale, translucent figure swept into view, flickering hands bursting into the variant's back with a cruel purposeful action, twisting in a sick and deliberately agonising move. High-pitched screams tore from the dying man as he grasped and pounded at the wall, steadily sliding down leaving behind a ghastly scarlet slick against the glass, only to suddenly have his limp body dragged up and slammed against the _ceiling._

 _Jessica, Mom..._ Finally tearing his gaze away, Sam clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the red smothering his knuckles, focussing his senses on the immediate area. From all his experience and years of studying paranormal law, he knew instinctively that the ghost would be coming for him next. Propelling himself into an upright position, he was left panting and light-headed as a fiery agony swept up from his tail-bone. _What the hell did they do to me?_ He shoved the frantic and panic-ridden thoughts to the back of his mind, swallowing past the lump in his throat and keeping his breaths deep and steady in a pitiful attempt to counteract the pain. As the lights flickered out and sent both rooms and the corridor in the vicinity into pitch-darkness, he knew he had to get moving, and fast.

Clinging to the wall in an attempt to keep some of his weight off his still-throbbing ankle, Sam felt about the way ahead of him with his hands in the inky blackness, his fingers curling around the familiar grip of his torch. Switching the beam on, he couldn't help but feel a flood of relief wash over him as the warm light ate away at the darkness previously shrouding him. Stumbling across the flooring panels for a few seconds like a new-born foal while he fought to find and maintain his balance, Sam finally found himself able to move swiftly across towards the glass automatic doors and hesitated as a burly figure swept into view, pausing in front of the doors. Coal-dark eyes stared coldly through the glass, and Sam felt shivers creep down his spine in an icy chill as the pure evil about the variant appeared to almost read the very imprints of his soul.

"You think you're safe in there? Wall flower. Pretty flower." Damp breath clouded across the glass as the hatred dripping words were spat out. "Fucking...I'll open you up. Open you up and show you..." Sam jolted backwards, his back colliding with the blood splattered wall behind him. His heartbeat pounding like thunder in his ears, he couldn't help the wave of fear that flooded down his spine at the words, and the pure malicious intent that they served. Yellowed teeth were visible as cracked lips parted in a cruel sneer, cracked knuckles pressing to the doors. "Make you purr..." The variant tilted his head back, rolling his shoulders and humming with a vindictive pleasure, madness lighting in his eyes. "You wait right there." Plodding footsteps carried him across towards the blue glow of the computer room and with a growing sense of apprehension, Sam heard the soft hum of electronics before the doors parted with a low-parried hiss.

"Fuck." He muttered, before breaking into swift movement, checking to see if the lone figure noticed. The silhouetted variant didn't move from sliding bloodied fingers across the buttons and switches and Sam broke into a sprint in the opposite direction, keeping his torch beam directed a few yards ahead of him. Coming face-to-face with a metal door, he tried the handle without high expectations and had to hold back a triumphant yell as the door opened easily under his touch. The lit corridor in front of him allowed him to turn his torch off and closing the door behind him, he leant back, closing his eyes for a split second to catch his breath before reaching behind his jacket to feel for his gun. The familiar shape was not there and Sam felt sick to his stomach at the realisation that _one of these sickos has my gun..._

"Okay." He spoke quietly, but the sound of his voice broke the immediate background noise of screams and agonised cries from elsewhere in the building. "Okay. So there's got to be a way out of this place, and back to where Dean was." He kept his footsteps light, taking care not to brush against the metallic looking plastic-wrapping of the walls, and dropped into a crouch in the doorway as he heard the echoes of voices flung back from ahead of him.

"Keep him still. I been dreaming about this for ever." The voice was level and full of pure venom and dropped into a low growl with the final word. " _Doctor._ " Sam clasped a hand to his mouth as he felt the nausea rising. He had seen a lot of awful images and bloody scenes over the years while hunting, but never had he seen something like this, as the man crouching over the choking body on the bench rose an arm above his head, a long blade gleaming in the light for a split second before plunging down, slicing through flesh and covering the gleefully watching faces with dark liquid. Sam glanced down, realising that he was trembling by the shakes running through his hands in front of him. Rising his head slightly, he tried to peer forwards to figure out his route, the same terrifying thought that didn't bear even contemplating chanting in his mind. _These psychos have Dean...Oh God, oh God..._

"You. No observers. Come in." The shortly spoken words were clearly leaving him with no option as Sam looked up and found himself staring into emotionless eyes, the yellow irises tinted with a darker sense of something corrupt and vicious. Sam had fought plenty of demons over the years; hell, as much as he regretted it, he remembered Ruby, and more recently, their dealings with Crowley. And yet he had never felt this scared of them, and there was something...even more evil about the variants that he couldn't quite put his finger on. All the same, with no weapons to hand, weak due to blood-loss, and with neither Dean _or_ Cas anywhere to be found...Sam couldn't see he had any other option, but he almost fell into a sprint anyway, his footsteps pounding too-loud against the floor tiling so much that he wasn't aware of the drop in temperature until a frozen grip clenched across his chest, and flung him into the wall. Sam fumbled with his pockets, reaching the spare salt that crumbled into the fabric from the last time he'd worn the jacket, slamming the rock-salt into the spirit as it appeared to launch an attack on him again. Grabbing the nearest door he could see, Sam practically collapsed through it, gasping for breath and trying to control the panic before an amused voice broke through his steady mental counting.

"Our peeping Tom, come to join our therapy session." There was no question about it, and Sam instinctively reached for his gun, mentally cursing when he found it gone. Part of him wondered if they needed to start carrying knives around, and Ruby's blade had never counted. "Here, take the blade. Dig around in our friend here, get a little blood on your hands." Sam lowered his gaze, and immediately wished that he hadn't as he caught sight of the previously struggling and petrified doctor now a bloodied and lifeless corpse on the metal table. Surrounded by blood smothered and muscular figures on all sides, he realised with a sick sense of horror and dread that he was completely and utterly trapped.

"It's always healthy to express yourself." The voice was low and enticing, slippery with evil. Sam couldn't find the air to breathe around the stench of blood that coated everything. "You keep it bottled up too long and..." Yellow snake-like eyes flickered down to the mutilated form on the table. "You might do something you regret." One finger caressed the red-stained metal of the knife, and Sam kept silent, not moving a muscle so as not to startle any of them into taking a stab at him. Evidently he'd waited in silence too long as the main culprit lurched forwards over the body. "No? You're one of those? Too good for the likes of us? Think you're different. Something... _special._ " The words were spat with contempt, the knife dragged out and plunged back in with a sickening slick of blood and sound that crept about Sam, feeding his fear and speckling the front of his shirt with blood. In some maddeningly normal and almost insane part of his mind, a little voice was whispering with annoyance about how he'd only washing this particular shirt a few days before. "There are no observers here." Sam stumbled backwards, clenching his fists with preparation for a fight, as the stout man to his left leered at him. "Now. Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice," Sam muttered under his breath, darting across to the wooden door, and yanking it open, slamming it shut on rusted hinges behind him. So relieved at his sudden escape, he made the mistake of stopping to turn his torch back on, when a figure suddenly pitched towards him, deformed features twisted with rage as fingers tore at the plaid patterning of his shirt.

"The fuck are you trying to go? Come back here!" Landing a punch of his own, Sam didn't wait to see if it had slowed him down, instead sprinting at full speed towards the lit end of the hallway, bursting through another door and almost stumbling over the debris piled up in the way. To his right, some poor son-of-a-bitch was lying lifelessly on the floorboards, another variant leaning over him, and Sam couldn't spare the time to stop, falling through another door and identifying the swinging open vent grate as his escape, heaving himself up with a helpful kick-off from the side board, and crawling on all fours until he was safely a couple of metres away from the edge.

"Jesus," He whispered, staring down at his hands to realised they were smothered in blood that wasn't just his own. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt this scared. "We should never have come here." Which led to another question... "Dammit guys, where are you?"

* * *

"What the hell are you talking about?" To his credit (and probably a millennia of training) Cas didn't flinch at Dean's furious cry as the older hunter whirled around in response to the hesitant admittance.

"Sam is no longer praying to me." He explained once more, clenching his fist around his angel blade as the crawling sensation of one of the variants neared from the corridor they'd just made it through without too many hitches. "I can't find him unless he's praying, not with my grace blocked."

"Bullshit."

Wide azure eyes stared back at Dean, filled with hurt at the accusation. "Dean, I..."

 _Great._ Now he was feeling guilty. Slamming his hand against the wall in frustration, he took a moment to catch his breath, aware of Cas' uncertain hovering behind him, the faint rustling of the trench coat evidence that the angel wasn't quite sure whether or not to approach. This wasn't Cas' fault, and Dean knew it, but with Sam still missing and the asylum very obviously not abandoned like they'd previously thought; no-one could blame him for getting a _little_ agitated, could they? Turning back, he was met with Cas' almost nervous expression again, something which made him in turn unsure. Cas was a freaking _angel_ , and he was well practised at not showing emotion. Hell, the guy would make an excellent poker player. And now he was considering the endless possibilities of taking Cas to Vegas, which honestly, was the most hilarious idea he'd had in a long time. "Cas, I'm sorry," he admitted, hesitating to continue when the other man only nodded, a silent agreement. Cas understood. Dean hadn't felt so grateful to have his friend about in a long time.

Pacing further up the corridor a way, while Cas cast a concerned look back the way they had come, he came face to face with one of the first locked doors he'd seen in a while. The beam of blue light cast out from the minute gap under the door was evidence of computers and working electricity; and with computers were access (possibly) to surveys and maps of the entire building complex, which was something they definitely needed while Cas' grace was out of action. Running his fingers over the plastic edge of the card he'd picked up along the way from one of the corpses left discarded in a doorway, Dean tugged it out and held it up into the light. Pressing it to the security scanner, he was surprised when a green light flashed and the sound of a lock turning could be heard. Finally, some good news.

"Hey Cas," he called over his shoulder, gingerly applying pressure to the metal surface and clenching his fists instinctively as the door opened. "Come check this out."

"Dean," Cas began impatiently, sliding his angel blade up under the fabric of his sleeve with well-practised ease. "We don't have time for this. There are more variants heading after us and they're moving quickly."

Dean shot him a questioning look. "We have time. I'll be quick."

"Dean-" With an exasperated sigh, Cas settled for gently pulling the door shut behind them, and not wanting to use his grace unless strictly necessary, he bent down to check for the pulse of the pale and bloodied security guard lying limp against the wall, while Dean immediately crossed over to the computers. Like all of the other workers they had found since the library massacre, the man was dead and from the lack of heat, clearly had been for quite some time. Reaching out, Cas gently brushed the eyelids shut, hiding glazed brown orbs, and returned to Dean's side, an uncomfortable feeling of eyes on his back having him feel for the familiar handle of his blade once more.

"Dead?" Dean didn't look up and Cas watched him and the smooth movements of his fingers across the keyboard, taking comfort in the familiarity of his friend. Something about this place gave him what Dean would no doubt call _'the creeps'_ and all his instincts told him to fly away as far as he could.

"Yes," he replied simply, avoiding once again looking at the corpse. He was no stranger to death but the brutal killings were pure evil. Dean nodded, whistling softly as the computers flickered away from the password entry screens and instead into a series of still opened tabs. Feeling a cool stare on him that he instinctively knew wasn't Cas (the angel had some sort of a _presence_ about him that represented care, protection and sense of security that Dean hadn't felt since his childhood), his gaze was drawn towards the left hand screen, and he jolted back at the darkened pits that almost studied him from the other side of the screen, as though they could see him and draw him to the man with a single blink. Cas' hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, grounding him and without words, Cas silently moved closer to his side. Screw personal space; for once he was relieved that Cas always broke the boundaries. Priest-Guy tilted his head back, blinking slowly with a sinister smile spreading across his features before raising his arm.

"What the hell is he doing?" Dean wondered aloud, nerves cascading down his spine in a series of shivers as the pale hand on the screen hovered for a moment before being brought down sharply. A second later, the room was sent crashing into darkness; the sort of darkness that clings to you, oppressive and cold. With the gentle weight of Cas' hand on his shoulder suddenly ripped away, Dean was plunged into a fearful state of blindly stumbling forwards before an electric-blue glow illuminated the immediate area to his left.

"Dean."

" _Jesus_ , Cas." He caught himself just in time to avoid swinging a fist into his friend's face, before double-taking at the sight in front of him, because Cas' eyes were _glowing_. The air about them both seemed alive with energy, and Dean instantly recognised the aura from the first time he'd met the angel face-to-face. This wasn't his best friend, a dorky and socially awkward guy who rarely took off his trench-coat and seemed strangely small whenever anyone (well, only Dean) yelled at him - this was _Castiel_ , angel of the lord, protecting the soul he had dragged from the pits of Hell, and Dean suddenly recalled the fear and awe he'd felt from the first meeting all over again. He was very glad that Cas was on their side, and _not_ their enemy. "I thought you said your grace was blocked?" He blurted out. Cas blinked, before understanding dawned across his features and he eyed the door suspiciously.

"Most of it is. But what little I can access I'll use to protect you."

The little part of Dean's mind that was filled with pride was indignant - he could look after himself thank-you-very-much when realisation struck that he really couldn't. He had no weapons, the variants didn't feel pain and _...and Cas could be hurt by them_. Shooting the angel a look, Dean knew instinctively what he was planning. _Hell no._ Jeez, if there was an award for how many grenades a guy could launch himself at, then Cas would have won it several times over by now.

A sudden rattling at the door had him jolting to attention, and stumbling backwards, he practically fell into the open locker. Grabbing a fistful of Cas' trench-coat, he dragged his friend in after him. To his credit, Cas didn't fight the action, instead closing the locker door and pressing the lock closed from the inside just as the door burst open and the first of the variants stormed into the room.

With his view completely blocked, Dean was suddenly aware of how little space there was. They were both jam-packed into the tiny space, with Cas pressed up against his chest, his hair tickling Dean's chin as he ducked his head to peer out. Not daring to even take a breath, Dean was suddenly aware that Cas' eyes were no longer glowing, but the tense posture revealed that the angel was still _concerned_ about their situation. He seemed overly warm, leaning back as Dean shuffled his arms out of the awkward bent positon around his front, instead pulling Cas closer to his chest and draping his arms over his friend's shoulders, feeling every breath the angel took, the familiar scent Cas had, the way his dark hair was soft like it had just been conditioned, and how the collar of his trench-coat had been turned up in the scuffle. Closing his eyes, he focussed only on his friend, to avoid the panic threatening to consume him. He couldn't give up. He had to find Sammy. But right now, he was lost and (he would admit it) scared, so all he could was hug his angel close, and just trust in Castiel. Not for the first time in his life, he had no other option.

* * *

 _ **In answer to the question I know someone's bound to ask - yes, I ship Destiel, but I have not planned for this to be a Destiel story so that non-shippers can also (hopefully) enjoy it. Instead, I'm attempting to write them as very close friends, and well, let's be honest, with a certain 12x12 recently...I need fluff, and lots of it. So yeah, this isn't really the story for it I suppose, but with how dark Outlast actually is, we need some sort of fluff in here before we all go any more insane than we already are (we watch SPN, of course we're insane).**_

 _ **Anyways, leave a review, please?**_

 _ **Kat x.**_


End file.
